


water and a flame

by beansprout



Series: water and a flame [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bottom Ezio, Ezio is my fandom bicycle, M/M, Mobster Edward, mafioso Ezio, welcome to the rarepair fest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-01 02:09:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6496666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beansprout/pseuds/beansprout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The head of the Italian mafia, Ezio Auditore, had come to him with a request. Edward Kenway could be quite gracious indeed, refusing the fee and taking matters into his own hands, personally. Having the mafia owe him a favor was nothing to sneeze at. But there was always something that he wanted. Something Ezio had to personally provide. Not something too outrageous, mind you – Edward wasn’t keen on making an enemy of the entire Italian mafia. Something small, but personal enough, for Ezio to remember him by.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this isn't even the 'other idea' i was talking about in 'party girls don't get hurt'... it just came uninvited and i had to write it.  
> if i don't update any fic, feel free to yell at me to take showers. ideas seem to come a lot quicker then. :P

The two of them were so similar and so different at the same time that their simultaneous existence seemed almost intentional. Their functions were complimentary, and so were their appearances. It was not the first Edward had heard of this; he was aware of such observations, be it the haughty, derisive needling from Haytham or Connor’s truthful, slightly awed account of things. But, now that he had seen the man with his own eyes, he could fully appreciate the resemblances.

They were both foreigners, outsiders, but that was all their backgrounds had in common. Ezio Auditore had had everything in life handed to him. Or forced down onto him, maybe, as before him his father and brother had run the Italian mafia, and then had gone and gotten themselves killed. As the last male and oldest survivor of the Auditore famiglia, Ezio had had no choice but to step up to the challenge. Willingly or not, he did a banging job at it. Now, at the prime of his life, he’d gathered the entire city’s finances into his hands. Stock market, banks, real estate… These things didn’t respond to any bullshit liberal market theory; they responded to Ezio Auditore’s whims. As the holder of the funds, he controlled the rises and falls of industries, the prosperity or poverty of neighborhoods, even had a say in the city council. He was a big wig. Fancy, Edward would say. 

Edward himself was the furthest thing away from fancy. Sure, he now sat in a Victorian mansion on the top of a hill, flush with velvet and floral printed furniture, full of paintings and curios from faraway lands. But the only credit he could claim was to have taken the house from a senator long dead, someone with, definitely, more authority than him on the topic of antiques. The art collection amused him when he looked at it, but he was not the curator in any way; Haytham was.

Edward Kenway was a self-made man. Freshly imported from the other side of the Atlantic and branded with a Welsh accent, he’d quickly given up on the American dream. It was, probably, the people like Ezio Auditore who kept him down, who made sure he’d earn nothing more than a miserable wage even if he broke his back working at the docks, on the ships. His introduction to the underworld had been accidental run-in. He’d taken to his new life like a sailboat in a tropical storm. What he lacked in experience, he made up for by ambition alone. 

Now he was lord of the underworld: thief and banditry, intimidation and assassination, fighting rings and brothels, those were his domains. His most profitable activity was, of course, smuggling. The Kenway Fleet was a terror on international waters, and could procure anything – drugs, artifacts, animals, or even people – for anyone paying the right price.

Ezio Auditore was willing to pay the right price. The right price being whatever price Edward wanted to name.

As mentioned before, he might not be much of a connoisseur, but it amused Edward to look at pieces of art. It pleased him to look at pretty things. Ezio was a pretty thing, sitting there in the leather armchair of Edward’s parlor, the long since empty cup of espresso resting on its saucer on the lacquered table. He was dressed in a white suit, the silk of a red waist coat peeking out from under the lapels. Straight-backed, crossed-legged, his pose was calculated and practiced to perfection, a well-earned grace. His brown hair was long and shiny, his beard carefully trimmed to line his strong jaw. His tan, moderate, was the result of a leisure activity. Outdoor sport of some kind, to maintain the lean muscles of his body. 

Edward knew his own appearance echoed some traits from Ezio, but for the completely opposite reasons. His own blond hair was also long and pulled back in a ponytail, and he too sported a beard, but it was for convenience rather than vanity. It was simpler to pull his hair back than get a haircut, and the beard… well, he’d had a wild night and hadn’t had the time to shave. Edward’s skin had a deep tan, from years of working on the docks and on decks. Even now, he still liked to pad the decks of his ships, checking for problems, taking over the helm for a while. The work and the fighting kept him in shape, muscles hard earned and hard kept. 

Even the scars on their faces told different stories. The scar at the corner of Ezio’s mouth, as long-lasting as it was, was only the result of a school yard tussle, a boys’ fight, a story well known. Edward’s scar was exactly as gritty as it looked. He’d had his face laid open in a knife fight, in the days where he still ran the streets himself.

Just that little tidbit was enough to mark the difference between them, in Edward’s opinion.

Leaning back on his own armchair, Edward picked up his own coffee – spiked with a heavy dose of rum – and smoothed out his pants. Both Ezio and he were dressed in what could be called business casual, but the effect was quite different. Ezio managed to look classy in his white linen suit, while Edward… Well, Edward knew whatever look he was aiming for by throwing on a black band t-shirt under the blue velvet smoking jacket, it was not class. 

He watched as Connor approached the Italian, offering more coffee. Behind Ezio, the man in the brown suit remained impassive, but he relaxed a fraction when Ezio declined. Edward snickered aloud. Gilberto La Volpe was the Italian mafia’s spymaster, of sorts. His paranoia served him well in his position, though seeing his boss consume beverages of unknown sources must not be good for his cardiac health. 

“Rest assured, Mr. La Volpe,” Edward drawled, but even he could only draw La Volpe’s eyes for a second. The man barely made the polite eye contact, before directing his attention back to Ezio, watching everything coming in contact with him. “We have no dispute, Mr. Auditore and I, no competition. And I’m not in the habit of poisoning my clients.” He swirled his cup thoughtfully and downed the rest of the coffee. “A paying client, at that. You’re willing to pay, aren’t you, sir?”

“For the safe passage of Malik Al-Sayf and his family,” Ezio confirmed. “And for the legalization of their residence on US soil.”

“You white collar criminals and your big words,” Edward laughed, earning a look of polite surprise from Ezio. “You’re asking me to smuggle them here, just say it like that. From Syria, you said?”

A nod. “We have reasons to believe they’re in grave danger from the government of Syria,” Ezio pointed out. Next to him, the second man Ezio had brought – Altair Ibh La’Ahad , Haytham had reminded him earlier – gave an impulsive twitch as he glowered at one of the harpoons mounted on the parlor wall. From his reaction, Edward could guess the man had had first-hand knowledge of the danger the government of Syria presented. “But you don’t need to know that, you already made it clear that you don’t run a charity. Money isn’t a problem. If you’d name your demand, we’ll be sure to meet it.”

Edward leaned back, contemplating his options. Money wasn’t what he needed, not with other operations running themselves. But having the Italian mafia owe him a favor… now that would be interesting. Edward could always bribe a clerk here, a police officer there, but they were small fishes. They patched things up, but eventually would tangle themselves up in the process. Quite a few of his dealings would be much easier if someone with an official status would smooth things over. In a permanent way. 

Edward could be quite gracious indeed, refusing the fee and taking matters into his own hands, personally. He was positive he could smuggle even the most problematic persons of interest out of any given country in one week, tops. And then he could graciously deliver Malik Al-Sayf and co. to Ezio Auditore’s yes man Altair, who would maybe even be tearful with gratitude. Edward would like to see him crack, given how steely he had held himself since the beginning.

But Ezio had been correct in saying that Edward didn’t run a charity. He didn’t do anything for nothing, and there was always something he wanted. He should make demands. What shall he ask from Ezio? Money or favor of any kind would be too simple. Ezio would just have someone else take care of it. No, Edward wanted something the man had to personally provide. Not something too outrageous, mind you – Edward wasn’t keen on making an enemy of the entire Italian mafia. Something small, but personal enough, for Ezio to remember him by.

As he mulled things over, Edward noticed Ezio finally shifting. Good, Edward wanted to make him uncomfortable. People like him had been lording over people like Edward since forever. Be it a small loan, a house, better wages, better health insurance, they held what little scraps they were willing to offer over people’s heads, watching them fight for it. Edward considered, with petty satisfaction, the power he was holding over Ezio’s head now. He stretched, slowly and luxuriously, aware of the eyes on him. 

“Well,” he said finally, grinning as Ezio leaned forward towards him in rapt attention. “Unlike a certain kind of people, I don’t exploit others, Mr. Auditore. I will charge you the usual fee for my services. But,” he held up a finger. “You are to deliver it to me, alone, tomorrow. If I caught anyone hovering, anyone at all, the deal is off.” He got up, leaving the coffee cup on the table, but taking the rum with him. “Haytham will let you know the details. Oh, just come by eight or so.” He let his eyes pause on Ezio’s astonished expression, and grinned. “We’ll have dinner.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually only finished Black Flag now.  
> Hell is empty and so am I.
> 
> I planned to finish this fic in one chapter. Instead, I'm gonna write 10k words to have two dudes have dinner together and fall in love. I am so gay.

Adéwalé didn’t think what he did was funny. “Did you really have to humiliate the head of the Italian mafia? I don’t care what street cred you think you’d get, but if this goes badly, nobody would ever dare to do business with us again. Even the Russians don’t want to cross the Italians.”

Anne and Mary, the pair of them, thought it was hilarious.

“What are you doing anyway, Edward?” Mary asked. She was in one of her suits again, pinstriped today, with a white shirt opened at the collar to show off her tattoo. Her black hair was tied back from her face in a messy bun. Anne had her red hair loose, and her own blouse was also largely unbuttoned, only to display a very different set of assets. Edward had no idea how she could slouch so, wearing that corset of hers. Next to the three of them, Adéwalé looked plain and somber in his dark suit. The girls were up on the counter, sipping on Mary’s flask of – what, Edward wasn’t even sure. He wondered if he should take it as personal offense that she wasn’t helping herself to his vast and expensive alcohol supply, but prefer to bring her own each time. 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Edward grunted, up to his elbows in flour. “Making Welsh cakes, the way me mum used to, of course.” Wasn’t that a laugh. He was sure his mum never bothered, but he still remembered the taste from the cakes he had swiped, when he had the chance. He had to get the recipe off of the Internet, though he was unaccustomed to navigating the treacherous waters that was the horde of whimsical recipes from food bloggers. At the same time he found himself wanting to make the cakes as authentic as possible, as well as wanting to explore some interesting variations. 

As he punched on the ball of dough (that refused to stick together properly) he caught Anne and Adéwalé looking at one another. Then Anne started to poke at one of the many bowls where he’d measured out his ingredients with a wooden spoon. “What are these?”

Edward glanced at it. “Lavender flowers.”

“Are you sure it’s edible? You didn’t get this from the toilet air freshener bag, did you?”

“What kind of dummy do you take me for?” Edward huffed, as Mary cackled. “I specifically told Connor to get them from the comestible section. Do you think Connor is that stupid?”

“That’s what you sent Connor out to get at ass-crack o’clock in the morning? And what are _these_?”

“Crystallized violet flowers,” Edward replied, and felt heat rise to his ears. Fuck, he was really being ridiculous. “Jaysus. Do you think I’m overdoing it?”

“Overdoing it? Not at all,” Anne grinned. She took a sip from the flask, offering it to Adé, earning a shake of the head in return. “You don’t have to worry, Adé. Eddie doesn’t want to humiliate the head of the Italian mafia.” Her eyes glinted mischievously and Edward wished he’d strangled her. Her and her loud mouth. “Eddie’s just got a _crush_.”

“I do not!” Edward protested loudly as even Adé began to laugh. “Don’t you dare go on like that! It is not a crush!”

“Worry about what it’s called later, man,” Mary wheezed between bouts of laughter, picking up the Microplane grater from the bowl where it was resting. “I’m pretty sure you grated your own fingernails into these orange zests.”

*

Ezio Auditore had the galls to show up in a _cape_ and look good in it.

It was a coat with holes cut out for arms. It should look ridiculous. But the way it swished around as Ezio consulted his watch, revealing the red lining, and then settled on the man’s frame, was downright interesting.

“Oh, hi, you’re very timely,” Edward said as he strode out from the parlor to meet the man, acting more grandly than he felt. He felt shabby and ridiculous in his best blue suit. The collar of his black dress shirt itched, and his shoes were too stiff. “Love the look, mate. Very Phantom of the Opera. Where’s the mask?”

Next to him, Haytham gave a single annoyed cough and stepped forward. “Allow me to help you with your coat, Mr. Auditore.” Ezio submitted to this easily enough, but Haytham being Haytham, he wasn’t satisfied with the removal of coats alone. After the coat was taken away, he was still staring down Ezio like he wanted to undress the man with his eyes. “I’m sure you understand, Mr. Auditore. Security measures must be taken.”

Edward could only be thankful that Ezio got busted so easily, the pat down didn’t have to go low enough to be embarrassing. Haytham let out a triumphant noise as he pushed up Ezio’s sleeve, revealing a leather armband holding some kind of mechanic. As he bent Ezio’s hand back, there was the sound of well-oiled metal pieces sliding over one another, and a blade shot out to rest in the man’s palm. 

“God’s sake, Haytham, stop it!” Edward felt like he had to intervene now. He met Haytham’s ‘I told you so’ look with a stern look of his own. “I will have a word with Mr. Auditore, _in private_.” He gave it a moment’s thought, and added, “Actually, I’d like a private evening with Mr. Auditore. So go and tell the others we’re alright, won’t you?”

There was an entire battle carried out as their eyes clashed. In the end, Haytham gave in. “Fine, _father_.” 

Great, now he had made Haytham petulant. Edward looked at his retreating back and sighed. He gave it reasonable time for Haytham and any others he had planted to watch their dinner retreat, before looking back to Ezio. “I’m sorry about that. My son is rather protective.”

“For good reasons. And I’m not as clever as I thought I was,” Ezio nodded, still holding his arm out the way Haytham had bent it to display the hidden blade. “I have to admit this is only for my peace of mind. I don’t want any trouble. Shall I take it off?”

 _By all means, take everything off_ , Edward wanted to say. In an enormous demonstration of willpower, he didn’t. He did step over though, and took Ezio’s hand in both of his, palm up. He rested his thumb underneath the blade, in the hollow of Ezio’s wrist where it was bent back. He trailed the pad of his finger down the man’s palm, taking a firm hold so he could bring Ezio’s hand to his mouth. “Nah, keep it,” Edward said, as he lowered his head and kissed the tip of the blade. He looked up at Ezio from under his lashes, grinning widely. “It suits you.”

*

Edward was pretty fucking proud of himself about the ambiance in his parlor right now. Light jazz playing on the record player, flowers in the vase, strategically placed candles. It just showed how classy he could be, if he’d take a break from murdering and plundering and put his mind to it.

Leaning back on his seat with his drink (rum, no surprise there, Edward was a man of simple tastes,) he searched Ezio’s expression for any trace of the embarrassment he’d caused the man. All gone now. Edward would have to come up with new surprises for him later. “So, Ezio. May I call you Ezio?”

“Might as well,” Ezio agreed, setting his own drink – a warmed amaretto – down. He gestured to the room around them. “I’m not sure which base this would be, but it’s pretty intimate for a first date. Fancy, too”

Not so embarrassed after all. Suited Edward just fine, he liked a man who flirted back. “I know I must look like a brute to you, but I do enjoy the lush, easy life. Sometimes.” 

“Far be it from me to stop you from indulging yourself,” Ezio laughed. “And I wouldn’t call you a brute. Just a very down to earth person.” Was there a note of wistfulness in Ezio’s expression? Self-deprecation? Edward suddenly wanted to know what the man thought of himself. Not all good things, it would appear. It was hard to bring on that subject, though, and Ezio had brought up a new one. “Clarify something for me. Is this business, or pleasure? Are you simply taking this opportunity to make me more amenable to some negotiations, or is it…” he bit on his lower lip, hesitated for a moment. “… human attraction?”

Edward burst out in laughter. “What did I tell you about big words?” He scolded gently, putting down his drink to get up and stride over to the other man’s seat. Ezio looked startled, and Edward held up a hand to stop him from shooting out of his chair and to the door, or stabbing Edward in the eye with his wrist blade, or whatever. “Relax. You want an answer?”

He was looking down at Ezio now. With his knee, he nudged at Ezio’s insistently, until the man let out a small laugh and uncrossed his legs. Grinning in satisfaction, Edward pushed his knee between Ezio’s legs, hands grabbing the armrests of the chair – he would say it was for balance, while really it was to more fully encage Ezio between the chair and his body. Satisfied with this position, Edward bent down to kiss Ezio square on the mouth. 

He wasn’t surprised at all when Ezio responded right away, parting his lips to let Edward deepen the kiss. The man ran warm, his body like a furnace under Edward’s skin. His beard scratched at Edward’s face pleasantly; his mouth was soft and yielding and Edward kissed him again and again, licking the taste of amaretto from him completely. Before he broke away, Edward caught the man’s lower lip between his teeth, holding on for long enough so it became a nice red when he let go. 

“Was that answer enough?” he whispered. Ezio didn’t reply, just looked up at him with huge eyes, his breathing harsh and quick. Edward rested a hand on his chest until it stopped heaving and Ezio finally gave a nod in answer. “Terrific. Let us adjourn to the dining room, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haytham and Connor are brothers in this, I guess. It isn't possible to use all three Kenways in the same timeline without alternating their relationship some.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: this is just a whim, i'll just write a chapter for fun  
> me: *6K words in* I'M NOT DONE YET

If Edward was a big bad villain in one of the old movies, he would’ve had the dinner services set on two opposite ends of his huge dinner table. Plenty of space to stare each other down from as they played twisted mind games. But he was not that sophisticated. Apparently, he was a fucking school boy who liked to play footsies. Therefore, his guest and he were seated face to face, at the very middle of the dinner table, under the warm light of the chandelier. 

“How’s the starter?” He asked, anxious, as soon as Ezio set down the knife and fork. Edward hadn’t had the ambition to make everything himself, only the dessert (and that took him long enough, thank you.) He had his cook prepare the usual fare, though he wasn’t sure his usual fare was good enough for Ezio’s standards.

“It’s good,” Ezio reassured him, reaching out for his glass of wine. “To be honest, if it’s not for you, it would’ve been a while before I get a proper, three courses meal. I’ve been too well acquainted with room service and airplane meals lately.”

“That’s odd,” Edward snorted, cocking his head. “I thought rich people were supposed to have picky palates.”

“Not if they’re always starving and don’t have time to eat.” Ezio shook his head with a smile. “Also, there are too many dangers in taking food from an unknown source. You don’t know the states Gilberto put himself in when I have to eat out.” Now he was laughing, “He banned Claudia from giving me food. My own little sister. This, because she made me pesto pasta with pine nuts, not knowing I’m allergic to it.”

There was something contradictory in Ezio’s story that got Edward’s attention. If truly there were so many attempts at his life – and Edward believed Ezio wasn’t exaggerating – wouldn’t it be too careless to tell a virtual stranger about some deathly allergy he had? Was this idiocy, misdirection, or did Ezio really trust him? Edward wondered about this for a few more seconds before giving up. Best not get himself started on that train of thoughts; he wasn’t made for mistrust. 

“How did he deal with this then?” Edward asked, gesturing to their empty plates. Ezio gave him a ‘what do you think?’ look.

“Very badly.”

“What about yourself?” Edward pressed, feeling his own grin widen. He knew Ezio had been scared, or at least uneasy; the attempt to smuggle in a hidden blade had already revealed that. But the mood had changed after that kiss in the parlor, and he wanted to know Ezio’s state of mind now. If only in order to calculate whether he’d be open for more… interesting activities after dinner.

God, he really _did_ have a crush.

Ezio shrugged – not casually, but kind of helplessly. (Edward couldn’t stop himself from liking the way that looked. He was already thinking of rendering Ezio helpless in another way.) “I wasn’t really worried. As you’d said, we don’t have any competition. But you did make it clear that you don’t like people like me, and…” Here he gave a sheepish smile. “You’re a very intimidating man, Edward Kenway. You’re not impressed by me. The suit and tie, the manners, even the speech… They don’t matter to you and you look right through them.”

Now Edward could be sure that Ezio was not acting or giving misdirection. These words were too charged with vulnerabilities to have been faked. Oddly enough, he didn’t feel any satisfaction at finding this out. Ezio must not have the chance to speak his mind very often if he was this eager to be honest to a man he’d just met. In this moment, Edward felt rather protective of him.

“You have nothing to fear from me,” Edward heard himself say, a beat too quickly and a touch too fervently. Too late to take it back, though, and he didn’t want to either. “You’re as safe as you can get in my home.”

“That’s what I thought.” Ezio tilted his head and gave a wry smile. “Given how thorough your son was, I’m sure he’ll leave nothing to chance.”

“My sons,” Edward said loudly, “are probably still watching, because they are paranoid. I hope they will know when to give me some privacy, or they’ll see their da in such compromising positions that they’d need their mind bleached.” He winked at Ezio and was gratified immediately: Ezio bit on his lower lip and grinned around it, and even winked back.

A maid cleared away the table and served up the main course. Edward sent her away afterwards, intending to take care of the dessert himself. He had worried a bit about not finding anything to talk about, but it turned out he’d fretted for nothing. Although they had so little in common, they were interested in each other. The one’s everyday life was foreign to the other, and each of them was eager to learn about it. Ezio had a private jet but had never set foot on a ship; Edward’s only experience at flying was in Economy. Ezio preferred to be driven around so he could work on his computer during transit; Edward wouldn’t let anyone drive him and even made Connor and Haytham break their necks to keep up. Ezio had self-defense training and that was the only way he’d see any action; Edward got his hands dirty on a daily basis and if he felt too restless, he’d just slip in unrecognized in one of his underground fighting rings. 

When the main course was finished, Edward asked Ezio to move to the parlor again, and excused himself for a moment. He practically had to jog to get to the kitchen – Why did he have to get such a big house? Jaysus. He couldn’t rush on the way back though, since he was carrying a tea service on a silver tray, along with a basket with the cakes. He wanted to thank Ezio for not laughing at him when he showed up, looking for all purposes like a Little Red Riding Hood going for a visit to grandmama. 

“What are these?” Ezio asked as he was presented with the cakes. The first one he’d picked up was one of Edward’s best, with the crystallized violet flower in the middle, only barely discolored from the process of frying. Edward found himself beaming with pride. 

“Welsh cakes. Thought you’d want something you don’t usually have. Y’know, something you can’t just buy with your mountains of money.” When Ezio quirked an eyebrow at him, Edward felt heat rise to his face like he was a tea kettle on the boil. “I made ‘em. I’m not sure they’d be very good, but I made them.”

“You made them for me,” Ezio pressed, his expression a mix of awe and smugness. 

Edward muttered a curse before nodding forcefully. “Yes I fucking did. Will you eat one and get it over with?”

He regretted these words the moment they were out of his mouth, but Ezio wasn’t even fazed. He looked at the tray for clues as to how the cakes should be eaten. It was pretty straightforward, so he was quick to pick up the butter knife, spreading a bit over the cake. He held Edward’s gaze as he took the first bite, then went on to chew with a thoughtful expression that made Edward hold his breath. 

When the silence was interrupted by the very loud crunch of a small stone meeting teeth, Edward about lost it. “Jaysus, what the hell was that?” Ezio shook his head and shoved the rest of the cake into his mouth, and Edward all but jumped on him. “Spit it out! Spit it out, I say! You’re gonna choke and die!” 

He tried to grab the man’s face and stick his fingers in his throat or something, but Ezio was surprisingly wily when he wanted to. Even with Edward perched on his chair furiously making grabs at him, he still managed to finish chewing and swallowed with an audible noise. Edward held his breath, waiting for the moment where Ezio turned pale, coughed up blood, or fell over stiff. Instead, the man merely took a moment to make sure the food went down the right pipe, before speaking up. “It’s pretty good.”

Edward grabbed a fistful of his shirt and slapped him. Not very hard, just enough to wipe that stupid grin off his face. “Don’t fucking do that!” he bellowed. “Fuck, I can’t believe I have to tell a grown ass man this! You don’t know what that was! What if it was dangerous?”

Ezio blinked, looking a little hurt. Edward would’ve panicked if he wasn’t still so angry. Upon further inspection, he realized Ezio was only hurt because Edward didn’t think his stunt was funny. “Well,” Ezio said, rubbing his cheek a little. “It couldn’t have been that bad. It was only a stone, wasn’t it? You made these for me, how could any of them be dangerous?”

Edward took a moment to digest this. “Sometimes soon we’re gonna have a talk about self-preservation,” he muttered as he climbed off of Ezio’s chair. “And you’re gonna listen like it’s the gospel.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am finally free from the hell I've brought myself in

The scare kind of put him off from the cakes. They were both too stuffed to swallow too many of these anyway, so they mostly stuck to tea. Ezio had stood up and wandered around the parlor, admiring the decorations. He seemed infinitely more interested in Edward’s mish-mash of curious objects than in the, reportedly, famous and expensive paintings lining the walls. He used these as conversation starters, skillfully enough, and as Edward told stories about shark teeth and enormous pearls and glorious corals, he forgot that he was mad at Ezio in the first place. The expression of rapt attention on the other’s face was more than encouraging, if not somewhat addictive. Edward drank in Ezio’s look as he spoke, just as the Italian seemed to drink in his, admittedly, only loosely based on true facts, stories. 

At some point, Ezio pointed and asked, “Are those real fishing nets?” He was indicating one of the pillars of the room, which was a wooden ship mast reclaimed. A harpoon was stuck on it, and a net hung from the worn wood of the handle. Underneath, there were more fishing nets, forming a big pile of salt-eaten ropes with sea shells, dried sea weeds, and rusty plaques of ship names and identification numbers. 

“Aye. They’re from my first ships, which were originally fishing vessels. I got them for cheap, made improvements, and repurposed them.” He frowned at the pile. “Couldn’t remember there being quite so many, though.”

“That’s what I thought. Are you sure there’s nothing else under there?”

Ezio tugged on the nets, heaving them down to the floor. Edward was prepared to see a pile of junks, some crates he’d forgotten about, even a shriveled up dead body, maybe. He would never have expected a piano instead. Huh, how did Haytham miss this? The thing must have been there when they’d moved in, then he’d piled the nets and ropes on top and forgotten about it. What a shame. It looked expensive, though the wood was dusty and dim with time. When Ezio opened the top to inspect, it let out a rueful creak. Unsettled dust flew all around like disturbed wasps, before disappearing, but not dissipating, into the room. 

Ezio propped the lid open carefully, and ran his fingers over the keys. Protected, they weren’t quite so dusty, though still enough that Ezio’s fingertips left a trace. Edward brought a tea towel over so he could wipe it down. “I didn’t know that was there,” Edward admitted. “Or I wouldn’t have just left it. Such a waste. Nobody here can play it.”

“It’s a very good piano,” Ezio agreed. He placed his right hand on the keys, striking a few notes. “It’s also out of tune – only to be expected, after so long. I’m afraid I don’t know enough to fix it though.”

The sound of a few jarring notes in the big, empty house was almost melancholic. Somehow, it just fit with the image of Ezio standing here, head tilting in attention as he listened, hands outstretched to barely brush the ivory keys. “You play?” Edward asked, receiving a nod in return. He didn’t know what else he expected. “Play something. Anything.” Ezio hesitated, but Edward didn’t give him time to make any excuse. He dragged a stool over and all but sat the Italian down on it. “Come on. Indulge me, something simple. I won’t be able to tell if it’s out of tune. I won’t care.”

“Very well,” Ezio smiled a little. “Anything for such a gracious host.” He made himself comfortable on the stool and placed his hands on the keys. He pressed a few chords, testing, before launching into a full piece. Nothing too complicated or outrageous – a simple piece, a practice piece, elementary, almost childish, that Edward imagined he must have played hundreds of time, if only to make his fingers supple and well-acquainted to the keyboard.

Edward watched him intently. The lighting in the parlor was warm and gentle, complimenting Ezio’s olive skin tone. The way Ezio held himself at the piano was what he usually displayed – practiced grace – though Edward could tell by the set of his shoulders that he’d relaxed considerably. Edward was fascinated by the angle of his neck, too. The way his hair fluttered as he moved, his hands moving over a straight line even as his fingers flew over the keys.

Before he knew it, Edward had closed the distance between them to stand at Ezio’s back. He put his hands on the man’s shoulders, barely realizing the music coming to a stutter, then a complete halt. Edward lifted the ponytail from where it was sitting and carefully pushed it to the side so he could kiss Ezio’s neck, now bare to his touch. The Italian turned his head slightly, his lips brushing Edward’s hair. The tension of this posture made the arch of his neck even more beautiful; Edward had to linger there a moment before surging up to meet his lips. 

Ezio’s lips parted in a sigh, eyes fluttering shut as his hand left the keyboard to touch Edward’s face, his fingertips lightly tracing Edward’s jaw. It felt like a brand, how hot his fingers felt against Edward’s skin. He felt scraped raw, as if Ezio’s fingers were leaving marks. As if everything on the surface of him was no more than dust on the piano, and Ezio was wiping it all off. 

Emboldened by the contact, Edward licked further into his mouth, and Ezio let him, deepening the kiss. The angle was awkward, though, and finally Edward gave in to the urge, hauling Ezio up and turning him around. It didn’t require a lot of effort; it took very little prompting for Ezio to move. Edward kicked aside the stool and crowded Ezio back against the piano – the keys making a loud, discordant noise in protest as the Italian fell back against it. The noise sounded so surprisingly like a human complaint that it startled the both of them. Edward pitched forward and had to grip the piano for balance, causing the old thing to whimper once more in life-long suffering.

Ezio chuckled as Edward used both him and what he could reach of the piano as handholds to right himself. “Hands,” he whispered, reaching a hand back searching for the lid. He made sure Edward’s fingers were clear before shutting the lid of the piano. As soon as the keys were covered, Edward pressed closed again, the bulk of his body parting Ezio’s legs. He grabbed Ezio’s face with both hands, almost roughly, their mouths crashing together in a kiss. Ezio’s hands rested on his shoulders, gripping tight, blunt fingernails digging into the back of his neck. Edward retaliated in kind, dragging his fingers heavily through Ezio’s hair, tearing it free from the hair tie. 

Before he knew it, Ezio’s hands were on his belt. The Italian paused for a moment to take in the gold skull-and-crossbones embedded in the black metal buckle. Either he only just noticed it or only felt bold enough to comment about it now. “You are so tacky,” he scoffed. 

Edward laughed – almost too loudly, that was how giddy he felt. To have something to do with his hands, he fiddled with Ezio’s shirt buttons, undoing as many as he could before he got too impatient and decided to move straight to the pants instead. “Shush. Don’t be a snob.” 

“Wouldn’t dare,” Ezio breathed, his now opened pants hanging loose on his hips. He toed off his shoes impatiently, definitely scuffing the leather, but obviously didn’t care at this point, if the way he flung the shoes away was any indication. He stepped on the hems of his pants to pull them off – committing another taboo in the gentlemen’s codes, Edward was sure – and let them crumple on the floor. By then he’d also pulled Edward free from his underwear and was taking him firmly in hand, licking his lips as he gave a firm tug. “Do you…?”

Edward let out a groan, but couldn’t help sounding incredibly smug. “What do you take me for? I came prepared.”

The lube and condom were in Edward’s jacket pocket. That was how hopeful he’d been. Ezio took this as overconfidence, and gave a snort as he tore the tinfoil wrapper and worked the condom on Edward. “You’re sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Just wistful thinking, mate,” Edward grinned, baring all his teeth. He grabbed the lube and poured it onto his fingers, rubbing them together to at least warm it up some. “It worked, didn’t it?”

*

By the time they’d moved to the rug in front of the fireplace (which held only the ashes of last night’s fire,) Ezio was divested of all his clothing except from his white shirt. Edward had finally managed to unbutton it all the way, and as he parted the fabric to run his hands over Ezio’s torso, he was surprised to find scars there. There were many grazes where knives and bullets had failed to make direct hits, but on Ezio’s shoulder, there was a scar in a gnarled circular shape, running deep like it’d taken roots.

“I thought you don’t see much action,” he said, almost accusingly. His fingers trailed from the scar to Ezio’s neck – still so intriguing to him, so inviting – and ended up cupping the man’s face. The gesture was perhaps more tender than he’d intended, but now it was out there and Edward had no intention of taking it back. 

“No, but a lot of people want me dead,” Ezio whispered, like it was a great secret he was telling. “You don’t really think I’ve gotten this far without fighting my own fights from times to times.”

“You’re just full of surprises, Mr. Auditore,” Edward laughed, bending down to kiss him. Ezio was laughing too and it was that sound that filled their kisses, filling Edward with a sensation of scintillating lights, like champagne, like he was made of bubbles. Carefully, he hooked his arms under Ezio’s legs, shuffling until they rested on his shoulders. Ezio flushed at this position alone, the blush spreading down his neck to his chest. “Alright?” Edward asked, and received only a terse nod in reply. It was as if Ezio didn’t trust himself to make dignified noises, if he opened his mouth. Edward would love to crack him. As Edward leaned forward, the man’s body bent nearly in half, fully exposing him. He fumbled as they kissed to slide in, smooth and easy after their first round, listening to any sign of discomfort but the only sound he got was Ezio sighing. He rocked forward until he was fully sheathed, and after that it was thrust after thrust after thrust, the world narrowing down to Ezio’s pliant body beneath his own, enveloping him.

* 

Ezio let Edward bend him over the coffee table, for the third round. He was almost passive this time, letting Edward cover his bare body with his own, letting Edward kick his knees open and plunge into him from behind, letting Edward cross his arms at the wrists at his back, using it at leverage to drive into him. 

Edward was worried about the other’s silence. “You okay?” He leaned forward to ask, having to brush Ezio’s hair away from his face to get a good view. 

Ezio had his cheek against the lacquered wood, his eyes closed, and at the question he opened them, dazed and dark, pupils dilated. “Yeah,” he panted with obvious effort. Edward realized, with a surge of satisfaction that went straight to his arousal, that he was too blissed out to even speak. He leaned down to press a kiss against Ezio’s shoulder. Ezio, denuded of all defenses, let out a whimper at that. Edward felt almost unkind for being so triumphant.

*

They were well and truly over now, limp and sated, and Edward sat back in the armchair, watching Ezio lounge on the meridian. He’d never truly get the point of a meridian – why not just make a couch? Now he kind of appreciated that piece of furniture more, because it allowed Ezio to lounge just so, to display his body in arches and curves that Edward liked. The other man was covered negligently in his white shirt, the stains from their coupling sketchily wiped off with tissue papers. His hair was still undone, and he looked comfortable in his nudity, taping on his phone as he composed a text to La Volpe, to let the motherhen know he’d be spending the night out of home. 

Edward watched him turn off the phone and dropped it to the carpet, swapping it for the glass of amaretto. “Wouldn’t that make La Volpe extremely anxious?” he asked playfully. 

Ezio scoffed. “It would, and I’m sure he’d yell at me tomorrow. But right now, it doesn’t matter. I’d like a moment of peace.”

Peace. Edward liked the sound of that. He got up and padded over, getting down on a knee next to the meridian. Ezio barely had to turn his head to kiss him. He lidded his eyes, content like a cat, when Edward started to caress his legs.

“I’ll sail out myself tomorrow,” Edward said. ‘Sailing out’ was probably an old-fashioned term and wasn’t much accurate anymore, but he liked it for the image it brought to mind. “I’ll take care of your man and his family. You have my word.”

“Be safe,” Ezio murmured, fingertips brushing Edward’s jaw. Edward thought, for a moment, amused, that Ezio was playing him like the old piano he’d uncovered from under the fishing nets. “Return quickly, and we’ll put that stamina of yours to the test again.”

Edward’s grin widened. “My dear, you will never recover.”


End file.
